Motion to Kill

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When Mason returned to his office, he found six banker’s boxes stacked against one wall. Each box was labeled Douchant v. Philpott Safety Systems. There was a note from Scott taped to one of the boxes that read, A deal is a deal. Save the firm and take care of Tommy. Then take the rest of the day off.

Mason ran his hand over the boxes, deciding whether to open them. He knew that when he did, he’d have no more excuses to quit the firm or to blame the result in Tommy’s trial on fickle courtroom gods. He used the letter opener Scott had given him for being best man in his wedding to cut the tape that held the lids on each box.

The first thing he saw was Tommy’s safety belt, the Philpott Safety System logo embossed on the back. It was more harness than belt. Tommy wore it wrapped around his waist and between his legs. A six-foot rope called a lanyard was attached to the belt. A hook shaped like a giant safety pin was attached to the other end of the rope.

Tommy had been on a scaffold finishing cement on an elevator tower the day he was hurt. He hooked the lanyard to a steel loop that had been driven into the cement. Believing he was secure, he reached as far as he could to his right to smooth the fresh cement, when the hook slipped out of the bolt and he fell. There were no witnesses.

Mason picked up the belt, the metal cold in his hand. He worked the action on the safety hook just as he had in front of the jury, demonstrating how the slightest pressure caused it to slide open and how easy it was for Tommy to fall. He wondered again what he could have done differently to win Tommy’s case.

Immediately after the accident, Tommy’s employer gave the belt to Warren Philpott, the owner of Philpott Safety Systems, to examine it for defects. Philpott, to no one’s surprise, claimed there was nothing wrong with it.

The expert safety engineer Mason hired said there was nothing wrong with the way the belt was made. It worked as it was supposed to. But the expert said the design was defective because it didn’t have a lock to prevent the hook from opening and separating from its anchor.

Mason’s lawsuit against Philpott was based on the unsafe design. A tough case to win since Philpott’s experts said the lock wasn’t necessary if the hook was used properly. Philpott had sold hundreds of thousands of the hooks. When a hook failed and Philpott was sued, he did what many manufacturers tried to do: settle if he could, the cheaper the better, and win the cases that went to trial.

Philpott’s lawyers claimed the accident was Tommy’s fault because he did a lousy job of securing his hook. They offered to settle because they were afraid that the jury would be sympathetic to Tommy’s injury-especially with his wife testifying about life with a paraplegic.

“Two million bucks is a lot of money,” Mason told Tommy the day before the trial. “After attorneys’ fees and case expenses, you’ll net close to a million-two. Between what your wife makes and what you can earn on that money, you’ll be able to take care of your family.”

Tommy didn’t hesitate with his bitter answer. “It’s not enough, Lou. Not after what those bastards did to me.”

“Those bastards aren’t paying you a penny. Philpott’s insurance company will write the check. This isn’t about revenge, Tommy. It’s about taking care of your family. You can’t take the chance that the jury will send you home empty-handed.”

Tommy glared at Mason from his wheelchair. “I’m willing to take that chance, Lou. If you don’t have the guts, get one of your partners to try the case.”

Mason stiffened at his friend’s challenge. “Tommy, this isn’t double dare like when we were kids. It’s not about my guts. It’s about your brains. Take the money.”

“Screw the money. Just win my damn case!”

Tommy didn’t tell Mason that his partner, Stephen Forrest, had convinced him to roll the dice for a bigger payday. LeAnn, Tommy’s wife, wheeled him out of the courtroom after the trial. They hadn’t spoken since.

Mason put the safety belt back in the box and sat at his computer. Although it had been only four months since the trial, he wanted to know if there had been anything new in the press about Philpott Safety Systems. The only hit was an article in the Kansas City Star about the verdict.

Mason searched Warren Philpott’s name. Again there was only one hit, a newspaper article published a week ago about a domestic disturbance at the Philpotts’ home.

Ellen Philpott had thrown her husband out the front door and his belongings out a second-story window, both during a wind-lashed thunderstorm. Warren responded by pounding on the front door and throwing a rock through a window when she refused to let him back in. A neighbor called the police.

Ellen explained to the police that she kicked her husband out for cheating on her and that she threw his clothes out because she was doing her spring cleaning. When she added that they were getting divorced and that the judge had granted her exclusive possession of the house, the police ushered her husband away, leaving his clothes to soak in the rain.

When it stopped raining, she collected Warren’s clothes on the patio, where she said they would remain until they rotted. Mr. Philpott declined comment.

Mason remembered Ellen Philpott, sitting in the courtroom for five days, first row behind the rail, far side from the jury box, a flexed smile fixed on the back of her husband’s neck. Her own neck, thin-skinned and thick veined, bobbing and weaving with the testimony. She nodded at Mason each morning as they assembled, as if they shared a secret. Mason wanted to ask her what the secret was but knew that Philpott’s lawyer wouldn’t let him talk with her. That was then. Mason decided to work a visit to Ellen into his schedule, hoping to make an angry, wronged spouse his new best friend.